


A Song, Slowly Sung

by Zigzagwanderer



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Boys Kissing, Chapter Three Got Way Out Of Hand, Developing Relationship, Eventual Porn, Eventual relationship, First Kiss, First Time, Hux Is Tough As Fuck, Hux Struggling With Stuff, Injury, Kylux - Freeform, Love, M/M, Pining Hux, Pining Ren, Porn, Ren Tries New Things, Virgin Kylo Ren
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-24 15:19:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19726309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zigzagwanderer/pseuds/Zigzagwanderer
Summary: I heard someone singing this very famous song on a train the other day so wrote three chapters of Kylux based around it, one chapter for each verse.Thanks to anyone reading this etc! I appreciate it!!!'The First Time ever I saw your faceI Thought the sun rose in your eyesAnd the moon and stars were the gifts you gaveTo the dark and the endless sky.'(E MacColl)





	1. Chapter 1

There is an offensive eroticism to Ren’s features. 

And that mouth; undisciplined in every way.

From the very first, Hux amuses himself by picturing how it would look, stretched around his cock, chafed raw and sucking him to the root. 

“I prefer him in his mask.” Hux tells his fellow officers, early on, and means it. 

Hux loathes Ren’s hair; that emblem of an unjust advancement. The knight wears it brazenly, like a token of favour, a piece of black silk their Leader has rewarded him with, even as Hux stands in line with his men and lets the shears cut his own glory down.

“You are an affront to the Order,” Hux shouts, at the end of a campaign, one day. “An _ugliness_.” 

And Ren lifts him from the floor and brings that unfathomable face up close.

The sun they have just killed rises in Ren’s eyes; the pieces of it drifting, spiralling. Reflected gold, in the dark of an endless sky.

“You distrust everything you do not understand,” Ren says, impassively. 

“I know you better than you think,” Hux hisses back, and although he fashions it as a boast, it feels more like a confession. 

It began as a strategic imperative; why does _this_ make the great Lord Ren bite the swell of his lower lip? Why does _that_ bring a bloom to his  
cheek, livid and raw, as if the skin there had been struck with an open hand? 

But once invited in, the phantom will not leave Hux alone, and Ren’s beauty has become a thing which haunts the General's solitary hours.

He should not have found intelligence-gathering to be so pleasurable. 

Hux knows that he is paying the price.

Because now, when he paws at his own prick, substituting, bracing, rolling in his bunk, it is _Kylo_ he must think of, to make himself come. 

The destroyer sways beneath them.

“You have been merely learning my tells.” Ren says, wonderingly, and lets Hux fall.

There are certainly enough of them, if only one looks long enough, hard enough, often enough.

Hux nods from the floor, coldly triumphant. 

“So,” Ren murmurs. “ _That_ is the only reason you constantly watch me.” 

He draws together his dark-winged brows.

And Hux thinks there must be some error he has made in his deciphering.

Because for one strange moment, he could almost swear that Ren is _disappointed_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'The first time ever I kissed your mouth,  
> I felt the earth move in my hand,  
> Like a trembling heart of a captive bird  
> That was there at my command.'
> 
> (E MacColl.)

Ren’s final ascendancy is laddered by deceit. Hux reads this immediately in Ren’s face, and makes his choice.

The accord is this; Snoke is gone and they will work as one. Until they do not. 

“Discuss this with the Grand Marshall.” Hux overhears Ren tell a whining General, later. “He speaks for me in all matters but those concerning the Force.” 

From that night on, Hux’s linear, military mind begins to dream in curves; the insolent architecture of a revealed shoulder, traced by a tongue. Linked coronets of bite-marks, pressed over and over to the inside of Hux’s thigh. It is not a question of resisting this unprofessional development; it is just so.

And Hux's imaginings do not impede his duties; they do well as co-commanders, differing ambitions harnessed together for a single cause. 

The language of the body gives way to dialogue, both consequential and commonplace.

“This is you since childhood.” Ren lets loose the string and the arrow goes so fiercely at the boss that it drills though the straw and pierces a tree far off on the other side. 

Hux is stripped off to shirtsleeves, sat in the grass, oiling his finger guards and bracer. They are not used often enough, during these long, winning days, and the hide of them is stiff.

“Passable. Considering that you are drunk.” Hux did not want company, and yet it has sought him out, dressed finely, for whatever degree of diplomacy can be managed by such a feral creature.

“The chief arbitrator gave me but one brandy.” 

“She knows her job," Hux comments. "One would appear to be sufficient.” 

He carefully eases his bow from Ren’s grip. Their fingers meet; damp, and warm, and in Hux’s case, slippery. 

“Let us depart this planet,” Hux frowns, kneeling back down. “Their habit of unproductive leisure sickens me, and we will have the pick of their resources.” 

Hux wishes he did not love a sport that his father also loved. 

He wishes his Generals could be trusted to shepherd Ren better, on the rare occasions Hux strays from his side. 

He feels Ren looking at his fingers, as he resumes working in the slippery tallow, and wishes for many other things besides. 

“And this is me since _I_ was born.” Ren launches the next projectile using his abilities. 

Hux shakes his head as the arrow rushes about the meadow, first veering one way, and then the other. 

“Are you seeking my praise, or my pity, Supreme Leader?” 

“Hux, I know you have neither to give.” Ren turns to walk the length of the lea, off after his renegade arrow, and Hux suddenly realises that Ren is laughing. 

Hux leans back, hands braced on the ground, to stabilise himself against this seismic shift of surprise. 

Ren. 

Laughing. 

Hux rises, and finds himself following. To retrieve what is his.

The weeds are fragrant, and crackling with insects now that the blaze of the day is dimming.

Ren stands under the star-flowered boughs. His careless trickery has downed a feathered creature of some kind. Ren captures it, and separates bolt from wing with movements that are very slow and tender. The damaged raptor snarls and beats away, up into the scaly, thorny branches above.

Hux stares at Ren’s quiet face, shadowed by the dappling dusk. 

“Do not ask me foolish questions,” Hux warns.

It is very peaceful and hazy, here at the edge of the embassy grounds. 

It is no place for discourse on whether it is right to take life, no place to debate whether they should regret such extinctions as they have undoubtedly engineered. 

Hux does not think that such a place will ever exist, where they can voice doubt or despair, and that is for the best.

Ren seems unconscious of the brownish blood that has spotted his cheekbone. 

He looks at Hux. “What is it you are afraid that I will ask of you?” 

Hux rolls down one of his cuffs. “I do not fear anything, Ren. What would be the point?”

Ren shrugs. 

“I simply keep my responsibilities in sight, and my emotions in check.” Hux decides to leave the other bolt embedded in the tree after all; he has no desire to display weakness of any sort while his co-commander is in such an unpredictable frame of mind.

“So you admit to having...” 

“I will see that the transport is readied.” Hux cuts Ren off with a sharp gesture. “Wipe your face before you return, Supreme Leader. These sybarites scare easily.”

The flurry of animal song that had surrounded them has become subdued. 

Over the rise, Hux can hear preparations being made for yet another obsequious function in their honour. Tables being set out on the terrace. The bustle of servants as a thousand coloured lanterns are lit. 

Ren lowers his gaze. “Would you do it for me?”

He tilts his head, invitingly. 

Hux stands completely still. 

Somewhere, someone smashes something, the brittle noise cascading down the sloping lawns. 

Hux stretches out a hand, and rubs his thumb, roughly, over the bloody marks on Ren’s face. 

Ren inhales.

“There.” Hux says, gruffly. 

“There.” Ren whispers back. 

Hux is aware of his own heartbeat. The back of his neck prickles where the sun caught it earlier. 

“I am at your command, Hux.” Ren murmurs. Swallows. “Tell me not to and I will not.”

Hux finds there is no particular order for him to give. 

Ren leans forward and presses himself in. A soft kiss, mismatched and awkward. A hand, to steady Hux’s jaw.

Because Hux has left his lips parted, each can feel the slight wetness of one mouth on another.

Ren gradually brings them into better alignment. 

Hux has not thought to shut his eyes. Ren is closer than any other thing in the world. A whiteness and a blackness, sharp and ill-defined. Slanting, magnified. 

The heat and scent of desire flowing from him is overwhelming. 

They stay like that for a moment, just their lips brushing, then there is an expectant pause. 

“Hux?”

Ren pulls them flush. 

“Ren,” Hux confirms.

And then they are kissing again, gently, overcome. Then not gently. Deeply, uncomplicatedly, and there is a silence to it and then a series of noises; an exhalation, the clatter of teeth, and then Ren says his Grand Marshal’s name, once, before he pushes Hux around to pin him to the tree.

Ren is ardent. “…waited…long enough.”

“I can’t breath.” Hux pulls Ren’s head back. 

“Sorry. I think I want you. I want you…”

Ren touches whatever he can, greedily, hurriedly, as he reaches into Hux’s mouth with his tongue. 

Gripping Hux’s shoulders. Palming at chest and waist. 

Hux hardens at the attention. At being held. He groans and they rub together. Ren’s eyes are a dirty bronze when he backs away, muttering unintelligibly. 

Hux cannot, for once in his life, focus. 

“You are so slight.” Ren says, rucking out Hux’s shirt, thumbing along Hux’s belly. Then lower. “I would be very careful with you.” 

Hux shudders at the idea of Ren, naked. The idea of Ren, burying his thickened cock inside him, the idea of Ren being taught how to ready him, and that tremor is enough to bring Ren back on him again, licking in again, his hands circling Hux’s wrists and imprisoning him, Ren’s hips growing insistent again. 

“This is right, isn’t it?” Ren mouths at Hux’s neck. “I know nothing. But I mean to please you…” 

His bites are clumsy. 

“It hurts, if that is your intent.” Hux snaps out, and feels Ren tense. 

He blindly grips Ren’s hair. At all costs, Ren must not be allowed to run. Not now.

Hux has never reassured anyone of anything before. 

“No. I only meant…” Hux finds Ren’s mouth again. Gives him words, and kisses. “I do not know, either. With you. I do not know how _not_ to be honest, now. But I…I will not break. You know this of me. I would not want you to be…tamed…in this. If you want to be rough with me, be rough with me. If you want to be lingering, then linger.” 

Ren blinks at Hux. Then he goes slower. Maddeningly so. The control in it, the deliberation in his kisses and licks and his stroking and untucking causes Hux to begin to move too. He eases his legs apart, straddling as well as he can.

“There. Push there.” 

Ren’s thrusting is still instinctive and artless, but now it is also measured, catching such rhythm as Hux asks for with his murmured encouragements. 

“Yes. There. Can you feel that?” Hux manages to say. He takes Ren’s hand and puts it between them and grinds his cock against Ren's palm. The inside of his uniform trousers is tacky with it. Ren grunts at Hux's arousal. “I want this, " Hux says, as if that will sanction his desires. "I want you.”

He does. 

He wants it but knows he cannot have it.

Ren kisses down the opening of Hux’s shirt and Hux feels his dog-tags nudged aside. 

Hux looks at Ren’s face. He is fragile, and transported. There is spit on his lip. 

Grand Marshall Hux cannot have this.

Even as his cock grows unbearably hard and his spine trickles with sweat, and Ren increases his pace. Even as he hears Ren begin to make such small, delicious moans, over and over, breathy and sweet in his ear, Hux knows he cannot have it.

Even as he longs and needs and would do anything for this completion; to come at the insistence of Ren’s beautifully brutal body, to have Ren equally pleasured at his own hoarse urging, he knows he cannot have it. 

“Stop.” Hux struggles against Ren and pulls his face away. His hair snags on the fissured bark of the tree.

Ren lets go as if Hux is suddenly aflame. Or suddenly doused.

Hux expected opposition; he stumbles sideways, unbalanced. He rights himself by scrambling a few paces out into the field, panting. Hands on his knees. For some reason, he closes the fastenings on his cuff. 

“This is not…it cannot…Gather yourself, _Kylo…_ ” 

Hux holds up a hand. Ren is stepping towards him, in response to his name. He is lovely, pleased if confused. He is tangled and lambent, and Hux cannot look at him.

“I said stop.” His cock is rigid. He passes a helpless hand over it and it makes him wince. “I said stop.” 

“Hux. We can…”

“Just. Don’t. Our… _equilibrium_ …it would not stand… _this_ …” Hux clears his throat. Smooths back his hair. “We have a chance at what we want, Ren.”

“What we want?” Ren makes a mask of his face. 

Hux cannot look at him, because to him it is nothing of the sort. 

“What I want, then. I..we have no need of this…chaos.” He runs his tongue around the inside of his mouth, hoping to commit the flavour to memory; hoping to obliterate it.

“You do not mean it, Hux. Where is your honesty now?”

They stand there, long enough for the taste of each other to fade from their clothing, from their skin. 

“I could make you.” Ren finally says, with empty, heart-breaking spite, and that is what makes Hux meet his wounded eyes. 

They stand there, long enough for a clerk in livery to trip towards them through the shuttering flower heads. Through the dark.

“Am I interrupting your game?” The youth asks.

“Game?” Hux queries, stupidly.

The servant has Hux’s bowcase and jacket in his hands. “You were practising, were you not?”

Ren is very stately, even with that bruised mouth and stained cheek. 

Hux wants and wants. Hates. Denies. Breathes. Makes himself live, even if it may not, in the long run, be so very worth it. 

“Yes,” Ren answers for Hux. "If you are absolutely determined to master something infinitively complex, then practise is the only way.”

And he reaches back, to where he kissed Hux, and tears out the bolt from the wood.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'The first time ever I lay with you  
> I felt your heart so close to mine  
> And I knew our joy would fill the earth  
> And last 'till the end of time.'
> 
> (E MacColl).

The shipwrecked carrier falls from space and buries itself in the ice. 

Hux climbs out of what’s left of it, accepts inventory of the dead and the injured, and sends the necessary extraction signals off. 

He counts at least one rib as broken. 

They encounter and destroy one small band of mercenaries as they trek to the closest homestead. 

“Yes. Yes. That will do.” Hux waves the medic away. 

The perimeter watch is set and Hux orders the rest of the crew to sequester themselves into the ranch’s largest downstairs room, awaiting airborne support and retrieval. The family that live there have no choice but to accommodate their First Order masters, but there is no reason to terrify them into mischief either.

Hux wanders through the building and until he locates the kitchen. 

He sits down.

An old woman puts a cup of hot brew at his elbow and stares at his bandaged hand. She unlocks a cupboard in the corner and gets out a bottle. Pours something into the cup. Recorks and replaces the bottle. 

Hux knows without looking that all such keys are kept on a ring on her waist-chain.

“You want a cigarette?” 

Hux looks away from where he is husbanding the economical fire. Shakes his head at the old woman, then swallows down an abrupt nausea.

He has lost three fingers and some of his palm to a blaster shot. The rudimentary patch has just about quelled the bleeding. 

There isn’t any pain; just an absence. 

Nothing Hux is not able to bear. Living with absence has almost, but not quite, become a habit, now. 

He assumes, idly, that prosthetics have already been requested, on his behalf, back upon the frigate. 

Everything mends, eventually, or is replaced. 

The old woman pulls a pipe from her apron and smokes whilst she continues with her labours. 

Hux swivels around on the bench. The room fills with sourness, as she cleans offal. There is bitterness too, from some native, twiggy seasoning.

“I can do this.” He sets his damaged hand in his lap and with the other begins to sort through a basin of dried pods. Picking out the gravel and the husks. 

He blinks. Often. Eventually, the old woman scornfully lights a second lamp. 

“Bad weather. So, no hunting,” she states, after a while. “Here.” She heaves and wedges a sizeable pot onto the grate and holds out a ladle. She mimes stirring the contents, slow and constant, but Hux shows her, irritably, that he understands what such a task entails.

He turns back around to the fire.

Starchy pottage, to feed his men. 

He does not have the energy, or perhaps the will, to order her to slay her livestock in their honour. 

The fumes from the fuel-logs make him close his eyes. 

The sound of kneading lulls him. As does the rattle of pans, the sizzle of fat over flame. 

At some point, a child runs in and is shooed out. 

The woman pours him more tea. And more tea. He feels like he is floating on tea. 

An elderly, domesticated animal of some sort shifts in its fireside basket, curious only as to the odours of the coming meal.

Hux stirs and stirs. 

He does not spill the soup. 

He does not want to be beaten, after all. 

The wind blows harder against the wattle. 

The stones of snow fall like shot from a conquered sky.

The shaking in his limbs starts not long after the storm crests, but by this point, Hux is unconscious.

When he awakens, to the noise of the blizzard screaming through the window vents, the medic has just finished examining him, and as he puts away his devices and takes his leave, he passes on his diagnosis.

But not to Hux. 

Ren is kneeling on the hearth. He is near frozen; he smells of ice and his cloak steams.

“You have a fever.” He has been leaning in, resting a hand on Hux’s leg. “A nanoinfection. The brigands were able to modify their blasters to poison what they hit.”

The old woman looks from Ren to Hux. Ren thanks her. Ren is not calm, although he seems to be. 

“Her tea has medicine in it, but I must get you back.” 

He manhandles Hux out of the chair, out from under the blankets that have been tucked around him.

Hux doesn’t recall anything after that. Except that Ren is there. And not calm. 

Hux does not see Ren at all during his recovery. He signs himself out of the medbay, and decides to offer his report in person.

There is a stubbling to his chin, his hair is soft and falling forward. He is not in uniform; there are too many fastenings to it. 

His wound is healing but slowly, and Hux does not feel inclined to ask for help with such things. 

He waits in the antechamber until Ren is finished doing what he does. 

The formal, inner room is brighter than Hux remembers it, from before; how long has it been since he could stand to be alone with Ren? For fear that his resolve would falter?

Since what happened, or didn’t happen, or nearly happened, Hux has been careful to conduct even the shortest of their briefings in the middle of the bridge. 

“Are you well?” Ren ushers him in. His chest is damp with sweat. He holds his tunic crumpled in his fist. He turns away to put it on. 

It is absurd. 

“Yes.” Hux says.

He stands. Walks over to his Supreme Leader.

“You should rest. For now, I only require the location of…” Ren begins. 

Hux kisses him quiet.

He skids his undamaged hand along Ren’s arm and up behind his head. 

Ren responds with surprise, then with a greed he does not try to hide. His lips part for Hux immediately, his tongue seeking Hux’s own. 

Hux remembers the taste of him. He has not forgotten, in all these long, hurting cycles.

They kiss, and they kiss, and then Ren stops and stares. 

Hux is not calm. He may appear to be, but there it is.

“This is not a psychological reaction to trauma.” He corrects Ren before he can speak. 

Hux has not thought of the attack, the crash, the ambush, the mutilation, the toxin, since any of those things occurred. 

Things like that will happen again; they happen all the time. 

What Hux has been thinking of is how he opened his eyes and there was Ren, holding what was left of his own, bloody useless hand. 

“I have wanted you since I first saw you.” Hux feels Ren’s hair in between his fingers. It is knotted at the nape. “And I have changed my mind about how best to deal with that…situation. Have you changed yours?” 

In answer, Ren bends to his mouth again. 

Hux bites down gently on Ren’s lip. 

“Do you even have a bed?” He asks.

Ren’s eyes are magnificent; dazed with desire, half-closed and long lashed.

“Let me show you.”

Hux gets hard watching Ren undress him. He cannot say he hasn’t dreamt of it, but a dream is just the mind’s best guess; Hux could not have known that Ren would reveal him like this, as if he was something wondrous. 

Ren brushes his palm down Hux’s smooth chest, his belly. He runs a knuckle along Hux’s collarbone. He traps first one nipple, then the other, between scissoring fingers, and then thinks to slip his wet tongue over them too. “I swear you taste sweet to me.” 

“Anything. Do anything you wish.” Hux tells him. “Do not be careful.”

Ren pushes him back. 

Hux’s cock shows rudely as Ren strips him off, intent, and the musk of it fills the room. 

“If I can last,” Ren sits on his heels and lets his saliva run down his fingers. “I want to push inside you. That is what I want. To come inside you.” He rubs the head of Hux’s cock, lightly, with his spit. Puts his fingers back into his mouth, sucking. “I suppose I want to…claim you, for my own? But if you do not think you want…”

“Yes.” Hux says. “I do want.”

Ren lays next to Hux and innocently explores him. 

Occasionally, he kisses or licks. He is absorbed in getting what he wants, at last, and for Hux, Ren’s expression alone is dangerous; he is being spurred on by it, by the naked want in it, far too quickly.

In the end he desperately leans over, contorting unattractively, to distract Ren with a kiss. 

They moan into each other.

“You are very prickly,” Ren scratches Hux’s cheek.

“You are very beautiful.” Hux replies. “I have always thought it.”

He rolls Ren until he is on his back, fully clothed, his knot of hair undone, black waves upon the thin pillow. “My concern now is that I cannot have you every moment of every cycle.”

Hux straddles him, with his cock stringing out fluid. Ren palms him and licks it off. 

“We can take our meetings in private, if we wish.” Ren answers quietly, almost smiling. 

He is more at peace than Hux, an oddly certain delight radiating from him as he rubs his thumbs over Hux’s bony hips, gently possessive. 

“I am trying to control myself,” he confesses, flushing, “and you are not helping.”

Hux realises that he is already grinding himself into Ren. 

“Apologies. Proceed, then.”

Hux almost thinks he cannot bear to see Ren unclothed, but he assists in untying Ren’s waistband with his unbandaged hand and pulls Ren’s loose pants down, crouching away at an ungainly angle, while Ren wriggles back out of his tunic once again.

“I…I…have never wanted anyone more.” Hux says, honestly. 

Ren is physically arresting, even in an environment of honed strength, a place where there is no privacy, even if one has rank. Hux is experienced, is used to male perfection, and yet, Ren is singular, and apparently belongs to him, so he simply looks, and looks, and looks. 

“You are beautiful,” he repeats, softly. “No-one else is to touch you. Not ever.”

He cannot begin to voice a more comprehensive definition of how he feels; he wonders already what he would not give to keep Ren, what goals will now be forfeit to this new, primary need. 

Hux dawdles, to tease, nails scraping ribs and circling upon Ren’s breast. He reaches for Ren’s cock but Ren shakes his head.

“Hux. Have pity on me and do not try my patience or my ability to hold off much longer.” Ren is admirably determined. 

Hux smiles.

Ren smiles back. 

He lays Hux down and slyly puts little bites along Hux’s underarm, along his jaw, using his teeth again, devouring. 

Hux closes his eyes, and lets the small, rounding stabs of pain merge into a slow, rising coil of sensation. He feels Ren’s cock drag against him, and shivers.

Ren works his way towards Hux’s own straining prick. 

“Yes.” Hux lifts his knees.

“Show me how you would want me to hold you.” Ren pushes Hux’s ankles further apart. “For next time.” 

Hux tenses himself, to feel the ache for release spiral even deeper inside, where Ren will soon be, and starts to make himself harder still. 

Ren puts his face up close. Darts out his tongue now and again in rough little licks, tasting Hux and making him more and more slippery. Hux tightens his fist.

“Put it in your mouth.” Hux wipes himself obscenely along the seam of Ren’s lips.

Ren opens up and takes him in. Hux grunts as Ren first increases then relaxes the suck of it, over and over, experimenting. Lapping, when he can, with his tongue.

Hux begins to pant, hard, and knowing his own limits, he taps Ren’s dripping chin.

“Enough,” he says, “for now.” 

“Well, yes.” Ren is amused.

The room is sparsely furnished. There is one table next to the bed. It is crowded with a book or two. Hux’s arrow. Mechanical debris. Scraps of clothing.

Ren leans over Hux and rummages through it all until he finds a small, familiar canister. 

It is what every soldier has in their quarters. For _oiling their armour_.

Hux plucks at Ren’s nipples. Soothes along his backbone.

They kiss again.

“I sometimes use this on myself?” Ren tilts his head and worries on his bottom lip. “Will it be sufficient?”

Hux lifts an eyebrow. “It usually is.”

Ren watches as Hux eases himself wide. 

“Should we get something better, then, from now on?” 

Hux doesn’t answer.

Before he can lose his purpose again, Hux shoves Ren around and arranges them just so.

Ren breathes heavily as he uses his thumbs to part Hux and see what he is about to breach. 

Hux grits his teeth, impatience itself.

Ren pours what remains in the canister over his cock and there is only the noise of Ren working himself to stiffness, and the noise of them both panting in anticipation.

Then they are only hips; pushing. Only the fill of it. The emptiness and that which fills it. 

“More.” Hux arches his spine.

Ren gets himself all the way in with a final, relentless nudge. Hux cries out; something he has not been moved to do for years.

“So tight around me,” Ren whines. It is sublime; he sounds so helpless, so incredulous. “How is it possible that I love you so much? I will want this, as I want you, all of the time now.” 

Ren flicks sweat away. Breathes. Starts to move.

After a short while, he pauses, laying himself down over Hux's back. Their hearts thud together. “Can you press against me? I want you to fuck yourself on me, Hux.” 

Hux mutters and bucks Ren off, to pick up the rhythm.

They slide and ram together.

Hux shuts his eyes. 

Ren starts to grab at Hux’s waist. Then his shoulder and his neck. He begins thrusting very deep and hard, occasionally losing the beat of it as the urgency becomes too much.

Ren resorts to pulling Hux onto him instead. Hux is finding it hard to balance. 

They are both looking for purchase with scrabbling feet and knees and Hux’s one good hand. 

“Please, make me come.” Hux says, as he hangs his head. “Make me come.”

Ren loops his arm around and runs his hand up and down the length of Hux’s cock.

“That’s it. Kylo. Yes. Oh, yes.”

Ren does it again, then again, until Hux’s body lets go and he spills over Ren’s hand and across the destroyed bed, hot and viscous and strongly-smelling. 

“Kylo.” 

“Yes.” 

Ren abruptly abandons Hux to his shuddering. 

Hux curses Ren’s lack of etiquette and keeps coming as Ren digs his fingers into his hips and takes what he needs, unthinking as an animal. 

"Come inside me. Mark me as yours." Hux groans and shakes beneath Ren, roughly and guilelessly fucked by him, intoxicated by the unsophisticated sounds of pleasure Ren is making above him, clenching and clutching at Ren’s intrusion into him, until Ren grows rigid and pours himself out, deep inside Hux's trembling body, strangely silent, his lungs heaving with the divine effort of it all.

After a while, Ren recovers enough to pull Hux over, so that they can both topple onto their sides. 

“Well.” Hux wriggles, sore. Ren’s come trickles down between their bodies. 

Ren kisses Hux’s shoulder. “I did not know I possessed such patience, Hux. To wait for you.”

Hux thinks that Ren will soon ask if they can fuck again.

He hums to himself in good humour. 

It may not last, this joy. 

Or maybe it will last ‘til the end of time. 

“I will do anything you ask of me,” Ren tells Hux. “Except stay away from you ever again.”

“Agreed.” Hux foresees many arguments. Reconciliations. 

“Then perhaps you should call me Armitage,” he says. “Perhaps you should say my name when you come. I would enjoy that, I think.”

And Ren lifts Hux’s wounded hand out of his way, delicately, so that he can tug Hux closer still.

“If it pleases you,” Ren says, his face unfathomable, as it usually is, to most people. He runs his teeth along Hux's ear. His voice is low, seductive, dark. "Although I could just call you _Emperor_ , and have done with it?”


End file.
